


Four Suites and One Room

by chilly_flame



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-07
Updated: 2016-01-07
Packaged: 2018-05-12 13:24:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5667616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chilly_flame/pseuds/chilly_flame
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Andy has relocated to Los Angeles, and still somehow remains in Miranda Priestly's orbit. Originally posted to LJ Feb 2010.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Probably one of my lesser known stories, so much so that even I forgot it existed when I imported the rest of my stuff over.

 

I. The first time it happened, they were both drunk.

 

The sun was in Andy’s eyes when she saw the flash of white that made her hand twitch as it held the microphone. Her mind drifted, but the words cascading out of John Varvatos’ mouth about Franz Ferdinand brought Andy back to the moment. She smiled blankly, suddenly sure that she was mistaken about what she’d seen. “Which collection has been the highlight of your week?” she asked.

 

John smiled and provided a lengthy answer, carved into perfect twenty-second sound bites. He was a pro, with or without Andy’s help. Meanwhile, Andy tried hard to focus on him and not out at the sea of faces drifting around outside the tent.

 

“Thanks so much for taking the time, Mr. Varvatos. I loved everything this year, particularly those military boots. How about making some of those in my size?” she joked.

 

“For you, Andrea, I would.”

 

Andy laughed. “Have a great night,” she said, reaching out to shake his hand.

 

“You too,” he replied, kissing both her cheeks before giving the camera a wave.

 

“There you have it--the latest from John Varvatos. Thanks for joining me for LA Connection’s coverage of Mercedes Benz Fashion Week. I’m your host, Andrea Sachs. Drive safe everybody, and see you next week!” She winked at the camera, keeping her smile from wavering even one iota.

 

Her cameraman gave a nod, and she finally exhaled as he extinguished the key light. The weather was hot and dry, even though it was only March. She had not adjusted to the seasons at all, and hoped that spring would last for more than a week or two. Less than a year in the city had not been enough time for her to get used to its rhythms. “Was it okay?” she asked Mike.

 

“Yeah, you were great, I think we’re set. You staying or heading home?”

 

“Um,” Andy said, gazing around. “Probably staying. Why?”

 

Mike shrugged. “I could give you a ride.”

 

Andy blinked, and decided not to draw any more attention to the fact that Mike had a crush on her, and had since they’d met three months prior. “Oh, that’s sweet. But I’m only a few blocks away. And I thought I saw someone I knew.” She finally looked Mike in the eye. “From New York, I mean. I want to have a look around.”

 

His grin was a little sheepish. “Sure, Andrea. I’ll catch you next week, okay? And really, that was an awesome segment.”

 

“Thanks. You need any help with packing your stuff?”

 

He shook his sandy hair. “Nah, I’m good. Have a great weekend.”

 

“You too.” She watched him trudge off, his button down shirt and long shorts fitting in surprisingly well in this relaxed atmosphere. LA’s Fashion week was nothing like New York’s; more casual, less crowded, and not nearly as influential. But that suited Andy fine. She was gainfully employed, and was starting to enjoy her work in front of the camera. After three months of fashion and entertainment segments for a local show, she’d garnered a tiny, if vocal, following online.

 

But this was just her freelance gig; she spent most of her time as a field reporter for KTLA news. The Mirror had given her great experience in the largest market in the country, but print journalism was a vanishing industry. Around the same time Andy starting to weigh options for the future, Lily decided to take a stab at opening a small west coast gallery. She asked in jest if Andy would come along, and Andy surprised the both of them by taking the idea seriously.

 

One April evening after a freak snowstorm dumped eight inches on the New York City streets, she checked out Craig’s List for LA apartments. Lily had found gallery space in Culver City, and lo and behold, many apartments in that neighborhood were cheaper than hers by a thousand dollars or more. Twice as big. With parking spots, and refrigerators, and dishwashers and gas fireplaces. Some had balconies. Or _yards,_ with grass and trees and even driveways.

 

So when Lily packed her stuff, Andy packed hers too, and they’d shipped it all west. Doug flew out to help them move into their new place, and he’d visited a few times since them. But although so much about life seemed easier in Los Angeles, she still missed New York. Desperately. Occasionally she wondered if her longing was less about Manhattan itself and more about what she’d learned there, and the people she’d left behind. But regardless, the city seemed a million miles away now, sparkling in her memory like a beacon.

 

The brief flash of white hair Andy had seen, or thought she’d seen earlier, reminded Andy of one of the people from that other life. The rush of nostalgia and affection she’d felt at just the thought of Miranda Priestly had been enough to steal her breath. Shaking her head, she laughed. No way was Miranda in LA for its minute version of Fashion Week. It wasn’t worth her time.

 

She glanced around, nosing her way into the tent and picking up a glass of red wine. Five minutes later, the glass was empty, and she’d snared some tasty hors d’oerves as the servers went to and fro delivering vegetarian delights to the health-conscious party-goers. Another reason Miranda wouldn’t be there. She wouldn’t deign to appear at a soiree that didn’t have at least a little red meat on the menu.

 

Andy snorted delicately, inhaling the last of her tiny vegan treat with a smile. And when she turned around to depart, she came face to face with the one and only Miranda Priestly.

 

Andy’s hand flew to her heart, and she caught her breath. Unreasonably thrilled, Andy could not prevent her enormous smile. “Oh my god, I can’t believe it! Miranda, what are you doing here?” Miranda narrowed her gaze. “I’m so glad to see you.”

 

Glancing down at Andy’s empty glass, Miranda asked, “Is that the wine talking?”

 

Andy grinned, fighting the urge to catch Miranda in a hug. What the hell was wrong with her? “Not a bit. I thought I saw you before, when--”

 

“Was that John Varvatos you were interviewing?”

 

Andy blinked. “Well, yes.”

 

“And Adriano Kouris, earlier?”

 

 _Wow_. “Yes, do you know her? Miranda, did you see that show?” Andy leaned forward and wrapped her fingers around Miranda’s wrist, holding it firmly. Once she realized she’d done it, it was too late to take it back, so she just barreled on. “It was unreal. My god, did she come out of nowhere or what?”

 

Miranda’s eyebrows lifted, just a fraction of an inch. “Not nowhere. And yes, I did see it.” Andy thought she probably ought to let go of Miranda’s arm, but she merely loosened her grip, leaving it to Miranda to decide to pull away if she wanted. Apparently, she didn’t want, because her wrist stayed in place. “You enjoyed it?” Miranda asked slowly.

 

Trying hard not to exhale her wine-soaked breath into Miranda’s face, she replied, “Enjoyed is not the word. I’ve been here every day and it’s the only thing that caught my eye. Completely innovative. Gorgeous, wearable, and those last three dresses?” Andy finally let Miranda’s wrist slip from her grasp, but she stayed close. “Incredible. Did you, um, like it?” Now that she’d gushed, she hoped she hadn’t embarrassed herself.  


As Miranda watched her silently, Andy instantly felt stupid, and small, and all the things that she used to feel when she worked for this woman. At least until Miranda answered, “I liked it. Very much.”

 

“Oh,” Andy said, almost light-headed. The urge for another drink came upon her, although she knew she should resist. But a server came to stand next to the pair of them, and when Miranda accepted a glass of red, so did Andy.

 

Miranda continued, “I came to Los Angeles in part to see what I’d been hearing about. Unannounced, of course. I was… not displeased.” She sipped from the glass. “And the girls are obsessed with some television show about the beach. They begged me to come here, God only knows why, so I left them with my ex-sister-in-law in Laguna Niguel.”

 

The girls. Of course. Their pleading was probably enough of a motivation to write off the trip as a work expense.

 

“What are you doing here? Don’t you still work for that newspaper?” Miranda asked.

 

“No, I live in LA now.”

 

Miranda’s eyes widened. “Why?” The word was less a question than an accusation.

 

“New city, new adventures.” She didn’t think Miranda would be interested in the story of her life, so she left it at that.

 

“But Los Angeles is so…” The derisive look on Miranda’s face said it all.

 

“It is that,” she chuckled. “It’s been interesting though, and I’m learning a lot. I work for a news station, and have this other fashion gig on the side. It’s for a syndicated show called LA Connection. Being in front of the camera was a total accident, but it’s kind of fun.” Andy bit her lip to keep from babbling on further with the story of a frantic call from a co-worker who begged her to sub in on some interviews for the tv show. Andy had agreed to it readily, not realizing she’d be on camera. But once she said yes, she couldn’t back out. When they asked her back a week later, she took a chance and went for it.

 

“Mm.” Miranda looked Andy up and down, which made Andy stand up a little straighter. “Well. I can’t say that I’m shocked.”

 

“At what?”

 

“That you’ve gone in front of the camera.”

 

“I see,” Andy said, although she didn’t. And she didn’t see why Miranda was still standing here talking to her when the place was filled with people who were prettier and wealthier and more connected than Andy. But Miranda didn’t even seem distracted. Her focus was laser sharp, and Andy hid a shiver that raced down her spine at the attention.

 

She was glad as hell that she hadn’t accepted Mike’s offer of a ride home.

 

\---

 

Four hours later, Andy sat in the back of Miranda’s limo, staring straight ahead. They were on the 10 headed toward Santa Monica, away from the downtown hotel where many of the other fashion players were staying. She didn’t ask why Miranda eschewed The Standard, which from what Andy had heard was a cool hotel, but probably wasn’t very sophisticated. Miranda was no hipster, after all.

 

She was, however, sneaking a hand up Andy’s dress, despite the fact that there was no partition between the two of them and the driver. Andy jerked in reaction, and didn’t question what the hell she was doing with a woman twice her age who apparently had every intention of getting into her pants. That was mainly because Andy was drunk. Miranda was drunk too, though she was likely not as far gone as Andy was. They’d put away what Andy suspected was the equivalent of two bottles of wine, which was about twice what Andy could handle and keep her head on straight.

 

She chuckled to herself. Her head was not on straight tonight. At all.

 

“The traffic is nothing like what I expected. Is it always this clear?” Miranda breathed heavily near her ear, and her voice was like honey despite the banal conversation.

 

For ten o’clock on a Friday, it was empty. “Nope.” She couldn’t come up with more words, because at that point Miranda raked her short nails down Andy’s bare thigh. Her head fell back against the seat, and she forced herself not to thrust her hips into the air.

 

 _What the fuck am I doing?_ Andy glanced over to Miranda, lightning-fast. Miranda stared back at her with that same expression she’d worn all night. Total concentration on one thing only: Andy herself. Already she felt swollen and soaked beneath her panties.

 

Even the memory of Miranda’s proposition turned her on. “Come to my hotel,” Miranda had said, her words slurred only a little. “Will you?”

 

It was that simple. From Miranda’s heavy-lidded eyes and flushed cheeks, Andy had known exactly what was happening. Not _how_ it was happening, or why, but the message was very clear. Now Andy was about to get some after a long dry spell. She could already tell it was going to be good. She just didn’t know if she’d survive what came after.

 

Endless minutes later, Andy kept her head down as she followed Miranda into a hotel lobby teeming with people. No one looked twice at either of them. Sometimes it paid to stay at a hotel that was also a popular night spot; everyone was too distracted by their drinks and each other to notice anything suspicious going on. Besides, unless you were an actor or director here, no one really gave a shit.

 

They rode the elevator together all the way to the top floor. The Presidential Suite was steps away, and Miranda used her key card to open the door. As it swung open, Andy inhaled and held her breath. The place was huge, as expected, and looked like a beach-side apartment. This was no impersonal hotel room, even if not a single thing in it actually belonged to Miranda. Across the living area, the bedroom was dark. It beckoned to Andy, like a hand reaching out to curl a finger in her direction.

 

She turned around to watch Miranda, who leaned against the suite door. “Thirsty?” Miranda asked.

 

They could prolong this if Miranda wanted to, but Andy didn’t. She shook her head. “No.” Would Miranda honestly refuse to make the first move after propositioning her?

 

Looking at her soon-to-be lover, Andy tilted her head in admiration. She had always known Miranda was beautiful, and sexy, and extraordinary. But she’d never considered this scenario even in her wildest fantasies. Miranda was always untouchable. Off-limits in both life and imagination.

 

If she’d only known how hot under the collar Miranda could make her, she’d have taken advantage in her dreams a thousand times over by now. She strolled in what she hoped was a casual manner toward Miranda and unknotted the scarf fastened around her throat.  “I’m not thirsty,” she whispered.

 

Trembling, Miranda leaned close. “Me neither,” she whispered.

 

They kissed. Andy held the back of Miranda’s head as their mouths moved together, and those hot tingles she’d felt in the car came rushing back. Two hands wasted no time in cupping her ass, and Miranda licked inside Andy’s mouth, testing the waters. Andy needed no further encouragement, and soon they were panting against one another, each kiss leading into another as they inched across the room. First the white scarf dropped to the floor, then Miranda’s blouse. She worked at the zipper at the side of Miranda’s skirt, relieved when it finally gave way.

 

When Andy looked up once more, the expression on Miranda’s face was enigmatic. “I’d wondered,” she said in a voice Andy barely recognized, “what your mouth would be like.”

 

Andy’s legs turned to water as Miranda brushed their lips together, back and forth. _Jesus_. She grabbed at Miranda then, pushing her down on the elegant, white lace quilt. The room was dark, but she could see what she was doing well enough from the lights in the entryway. She wouldn’t wait anymore, because she could smell Miranda, musky and dark. Yanking her undoubtedly expensive underwear down, she tossed it on the floor and knelt.

 

“Are you--” Miranda said, until the words vanished, and thighs tightened around Andy’s head. Miranda moaned, pushing up against Andy’s kiss.

 

Andy licked, keeping it gentle, uncertain what Miranda liked. Until, that is, Miranda’s hand landed on the back of her head and shoved her tight against her. _Okay_ , Andy thought. _I can do that._ She licked harder, pulling away sporadically with just the faintest suction. That seemed to work, because Miranda’s hips were moving constantly, legs opening wide as Andy’s face grew slick. She kept on, humming and parting Miranda with her fingers so she could get inside and find out what it would be like to fuck a woman, a woman who had been her boss for almost a whole year and never made a move on her. It was tight as she pushed in, strange and otherworldly, and she flattened her tongue and pressed hard against Miranda, back and forth, back and forth.

 

There was gasping from above, and the legs around her ears closed as Miranda gushed against her chin, throbbing around her in every direction. Andy wanted to come, and badly, but she felt powerless to move until Miranda grabbed at her hair and dragged her up onto the bed. Andy knelt, shaking, surprised when Miranda jerked her closer and slid her head between Andy’s legs. There was no hesitation—Miranda simply grabbed her underwear and moved it aside before pushing her mouth against Andy, her tongue long and nimble. Right away she went for Andy’s clit, flicking so quickly that Andy came fast, which was disappointing but also amazing, because she usually needed at least a little help from her own hand. Not tonight though. Miranda had her crying out for a full fifteen seconds, drawing every last wave of orgasm from her for as long as she could.

 

Falling over on the bed, Andy closed her eyes and listened to the sound of her blood as it roared in her ears. She was still dressed, still drunk, and completely uncertain of what would come next. Was she about to be thrown out of a hotel room?

 

But apparently that wasn’t the case. Miranda pulled Andy’s heels off and threw them on the floor. “We’re not finished, of course,” Miranda drawled as she turned on the light next to the bed. “Take off that skirt.” Andy rolled to one side and watched Miranda, whose mascara was smeared beneath her eyes. “How long will I have to wait?” Miranda said when Andy didn’t move, and while the bark was still in her voice, the sex underneath it removed the bite.

 

Andy gathered the strength to do as she was told, and stripped off her skirt, followed by her blouse since Miranda waved her hand in that general direction too. When she was naked, Miranda put one hand on her chest and pushed her backwards on the bed. “I have you now,” she chuckled. “Right where I want you.”

 

Her mouth came down over Andy’s, and everything started again.


	2. Chapter 2

2\. The second time, Andy was drunk, but Miranda was sober.

 

“Tell her it’s her cousin Daisy,” Andy told the assistant when she called. “Tell her I’m visiting from Laguna Niguel.”

 

Daisy was Andy’s code name. She had no idea why Miranda chose it, but asked Andy to call her the next time she was in town if she wanted to “get together” again. That is if “get together” meant “fuck each other’s brains out for 10 hours straight.” They hadn’t slept at all that night back in LA. They’d tried every position Andy had known, and some she didn’t. They’d screwed in the bathtub, on the hotel rug, on the cold tile floor of the balcony under a moonlit sky with the sound of ocean urging them on. Andy doubted that last location was a good idea for the sake of privacy, but she couldn’t say no to Miranda. She’d never been able to.

 

Now she was in town, and she’d been reliving her debauched romp with Miranda nightly for four months. She was ready to get some for real, so when Lily mentioned a trip east for a long weekend, Andy said, “Absolutely.” Since they were staying with friends in Prospect Park, Andy decided to book a room at a fancy hotel in midtown with a great restaurant in it. That way, Miranda could show up and not raise any red flags if someone saw her there.

 

The anonymous assistant came back on the line. “Miranda says to text her with your location, and she’ll meet you at5pm for dinner.”

 

Andy flushed. She wondered who would eat first.

 

“Yes,” she said absently, and hung up. Quickly she texted Miranda’s cellphone with the hotel and room number. A corner room with a great view of the city, including the Chrysler building to the south. Andy was already planning to take Miranda from behind against one of the windows while the lights were off, so they could both watch the skyline while they came. Miranda would probably be up for that.

 

At 5, Andy had a table set with half a paycheck’s worth of food and wine. She had a vibrator stashed in her suitcase (she had been deeply paranoid going through airport security) and considered using it to take the edge off, but she assumed Miranda would be here shortly, and didn’t.

 

An hour later, Miranda hadn’t shown up, and Andy had lost the desire to get off. By 7, she had drunk half the bottle of wine and decimated the food. By 8, she had ordered a second bottle of wine from room service, and three different desserts that she had every intention of eating while watching porn on the hotel television. She’d never done so before, but if she wasn’t getting nailed tonight, she’d watch someone else doing it.

 

She couldn’t imagine anything more pathetic. It seemed appropriate considering her mood.

 

There was a knock on the door, and Andy stumbled toward it, ten dollars in hand for a tip. But it wasn’t someone delivering food. It was Miranda, whose beauty managed to steal Andy’s breath even though she really wanted to punch her in the face. She laughed, and wiped the corners of her mouth. “You’ve got some nerve. You could have texted me.”

 

“I was busy,” Miranda said, pushing Andy backwards and shutting the door behind her. “You didn’t give me a great deal of notice.” She eyed Andy’s wrinkled Dior dress, all the way down to her bare feet. “I take it you’ve found a way to stay occupied?”

 

“Yeah,” Andy said, watching Miranda glance around at the wreck of the room service table and empty wine bottle. “I thought I’d watch some porn.”

 

Miranda smirked. “Maybe later,” she said, grabbing at Andy’s neck and kissing her fiercely.

 

Andy was disappointed in herself for doing so, but she moaned, and kissed back. She couldn’t help it. She was halfway to naked when someone knocked on the door again, and she cursed herself for ordering more food, and Miranda for having such a terrible sense of timing. “It’s room service. I’ve got to get it.”

 

Miranda removed her mouth from around Andy’s nipple, and glared at her.

 

Wrapped in a robe from the back of the bathroom door thrown hastily on, she greeted the server. “I’ll take it from here,” Andy said when the woman tried to push the cart into the room. “Here.” She handed over the cash. “Bye.”

 

Embarrassed, Andy tried to get things back to where she’d left them with Miranda, but Miranda wanted to know what Andy had ordered. “Wine,” she said.

 

“Good. And what else--” When Miranda lifted the lid off the tray, she gaped. “Did you order everything from the dessert menu?”

 

“I was irritated. I thought it would make me feel better.”

 

Miranda looked at her carefully. “It will. Eventually.” She dropped the lid back on the tray and shoved Andy back, all the way to the bed.

 

\---

 

Later, Andy rested against Miranda’s chest, nestled between her legs. They were watching the hotel’s Skinemax channel, which was a step below pay per view and would not be conspicuous on Andy’s bill.

 

“Is this supposed to be sexy?” Miranda demanded to know, clearly appalled. “It’s not even remotely arousing.”

 

Andy sighed. “I know.”

 

“Men must make this dreck. No woman in her right mind would consider this worth watching even for masturbatory purposes.”

 

Rolling her eyes, Andy said, “Hey, I’m sure it works for plenty of people. If nobody watched it, it wouldn’t get made, right? Supply and demand and all that.”

 

“That’s no excuse.”

 

They watched for a few more minutes, as the woman rubbed all over her man in a weird representation of sex that was truly unsexy. On the other hand, it was pretty funny. Andy couldn’t help laugh when the guy turned his partner over and tried to make his grunts of ecstasy convincing.

 

“Her breasts are fake,” Miranda pronounced. “This is revolting. Turn it off.”

 

Leave it to Miranda to take the fun out of watching bad soft porn. “Oh, fine.” Andy turned the station. There wasn’t much to choose from, and Miranda was picky. Ultimately, she shut the tv off altogether and glanced at the clock. It was only eleven but Andy was exhausted. However, she had something she needed to check off her fantasy list. “You tired?”

 

There was a pause. “What did you have in mind?”

 

As expected, Miranda didn’t need much encouragement, so a few minutes later Andy found herself staring at the back of Miranda’s neck, kissing it, panting with desire as they both leaned against the window ledge. With the lights off, it was a little scarier than Andy had expected, staring out into the gorgeous night skyline. When she slipped her fingers between Miranda’s legs, they both groaned. Andy traced one shoulder with sharp teeth, smelling sex and wine and traces of the chocolate from the dessert they’d shared. Most of her anger had vanished, but what little remained encouraged her to push inside just a little harder than normal. Miranda hissed, but hunched over and shoved her ass higher. “Again,” Miranda said, glancing over her shoulder. “I know you want to.”

 

So Andy did, and Miranda leaned on her elbows, pressing her forehead against the glass.

 

“Oh, god, Andrea,” Miranda breathed. “Andrea--” the last syllable was drawn out long and sweet, and Andy loved hearing her name leave Miranda’s lips. Reaching back, Miranda pulled Andy closer against her. Andy caught her rhythm, driving more deeply and gazing out onto the city that had drawn them together so long ago.

 

“Miranda,” Andy echoed, as all the words she wanted to say bubbled up inside her. _I adore you, I want you, I can’t stop thinking about you, please tell me you need me too_. But her thoughts derailed when Miranda’s fingers fell between her own legs and rubbed near Andy’s hand. Everything sped up, and soon Miranda cried out, thrusting, holding Andy’s hand in place as she trembled violently in orgasm. “Ohh,” Andy moaned, rubbing against Miranda’s ass until she came too, and the lights of the city and the one in her heart blinded her to everything else.


	3. Chapter 3

3\. The third time, they were both sober.

 

This was different for Andy because her desire to be completely enveloped by Miranda was so sharp as to be almost unpleasant. Over the following weeks, her memories of the event were more melancholy than sexually charged.

 

“I’m in San Francisco, Daisy,” Miranda had told her over the phone early that afternoon. “At the Mandarin. Would you care to meet me?”

 

It was a Monday, and Andy had to work a party that night. Luckily she was on camera only, with a producer who would head back to the studio and cut the segment for the 11:00 broadcast. “When?”

 

“Tonight. Tomorrow I fly out at 10—there’s a dinner I need to attend, but Phillip is here, and it’s imperative that I see everything today, and--”

 

“I’ll call you right back,” Andy said, and hung up.

 

After she did so, she wondered if Miranda would even pick up again, but she had to hurry to check the flight listings.

 

Fifteen minutes later, Miranda answered the phone. “Your manners are impeccable,” she said instead of hello.

 

“I land at 11, and can probably be in the city by midnight.”

 

There was a pause. “That’s rather late.”

 

“I have to work, but I don’t care. If I time it right I’ll walk right on the plane in Burbank and take off by 10.”

 

“Well,” Miranda said, sounding just a little impressed. “Fine. Room 4302.” She hung up.

 

Andy packed a small traveling case right away and threw it in her car before leaving for the Roosevelt. She did her makeup at red lights, which is something she’d sworn to never do, and tried not to sweat under her arms. On the red carpet, she was on fire, her energy fueled by thoughts of Miranda wanting her, Miranda kissing her, Miranda fucking her all night long.

 

“Girl, you look like a lightbulb,” her friend Danae said when the cameraman was packing up. A PR rep from Eileen Koch, Danae was usually at these nights, and she and Andy had become friendly in a distant kind of way. Andy didn’t claim to know her well, nor had she shared much about herself in return. That was typical of many of her friends in Los Angeles, other than Lily of course. Not that she’d seen Lil much these days—she had a hot and heavy boyfriend in Long Beach, so she was rarely home between his place and the gallery.

 

“Well, I’ve got plans,” Andy admitted, feeling a blush creep up her throat. “I gotta go now, actually.”

 

“Oh, come on—I brought a ton of friends. We’re going to Three Clubs for the burlesque show in like, fifteen minutes. Are you sure you can’t make it?”

 

“I’m sure,” Andy said, “but next time I’m in.” She kissed Danae’s cheek and skittered down the red carpet. Once in the car, she hauled ass up Highland, counting the minutes till the traffic thinned out. Skipping the freeway, she took surface streets and parked in the overnight lot at the Burbank airport. With fifty minutes to make it to the gate, she prayed for luck.

 

Remarkably, everything went off without a hitch. Thank god Miranda chose a Monday to come to California, otherwise who knew if she’d have made it at all.

 

The hour crept by slowly. As the plane descended into the Oakland area, Andy started to wonder what the hell she’d been thinking, flying to San Francisco just to spend a few hours having sex.

 

But as usual, there was a very simple explanation. It was Miranda. It always had been.

 

She didn’t know why Miranda still had such a hold on her, or why the hell she couldn’t let go after two years. She expected nothing from Miranda, even though she wanted everything. She was whipped, plain and simple, and no one else could measure up. She’d stopped even trying to look for another lover, or a boyfriend, or a girlfriend. It had to be Miranda, even for a few hours every few months.

 

After landing, she grabbed a cab. Sixty bucks later, she exited in front of the Mandarin and attempted to look inconspicuous as she strode across the lobby. In the elevator, her heart thumped so hard it seemed as though her whole body was vibrating. By the time she was in front of the door, she truly was trembling, struck by the fact that without the comfort of a nice buzz, she had no idea what to say to Miranda. It had been nearly three months since the last time they’d seen each other.

 

But she had no time to think any further about it, because the door swung open, and there was Miranda, in a pale skirt, ivory blouse and long pendant necklace. Her hair was perfect, and Andy could smell her perfume already, with its traces of gardenia and plumeria. Andy closed her eyes and inhaled. Paradise.

 

Without realizing it, Andy stood there for more than a few seconds, transported by the scent as Miranda stared at her. “Are you coming in?” Miranda asked, her voice catching a little. She cleared her throat.

 

Andy opened her eyes, and nodded. “Sorry I took so long.” She managed to make her feet propel her across the threshold, and Miranda closed the door. “I thought I--”

 

Her words were cut off when Miranda kissed her softly, so softly that Andy dropped her carrying case on the floor. She made a noise like a high moan as Miranda slid one hand into her hair. It felt incredible, and she realized how much she’d missed being touched. Being held. Being wanted and cared for, even if Miranda didn’t love her.

 

Once more she was reminded that this time together would be enough, because it had to be.

 

Gone was the urgency of their prior meetings, replaced by a languor that made Andy feel drugged. Miranda undressed her slowly, worshipping her skin with gentle kisses and caresses. Andy got lost, all her tension falling away with each moment. She could barely respond, her heavy limbs sprawled on the bed as Miranda hovered above her. “Andrea,” she said occasionally. And “beautiful.” And “lovely.” When Miranda finally placed her hand between Andy’s legs, she rubbed lightly and licked at her breast, murmuring words Andy couldn’t hear.

 

“Ohhh,” Andy sighed in delight. “Miranda. I waited so long…”

 

Miranda glanced up at this, as though she wanted to hear more. But Andy couldn’t say anything else with Miranda rubbing that way, and soon she was moving and lifting her hips and calling out as she came. A minute later Miranda tried again, and Andy was right there with her. With little effort, she came a second time. It was like she’d been storing her desire up, saving it to spill out onto Miranda all at once.

 

She drifted placidly for a few minutes, feeling comfortable and safe. When she opened her eyes, Miranda was watching her, eyes strangely blank. “Sorry,” Andy whispered. “I just felt so good I wanted to hold onto it for a little while longer.”

 

Miranda didn’t move. “What did you mean you waited?” she asked, almost in a whisper.

 

Andy blinked. She was so relaxed that she spoke before she thought. “I wait every day,” she breathed. “For you.”

 

Startled, Miranda broke eye contact and looked down at Andy’s naked body, gaze lingering at her shoulders in a curious manner.

 

“It’s all right,” Andy said. “I don’t mind. This is enough.”

 

Miranda didn’t reply, instead leaning to kiss Andy’s belly, rubbing her cheek against it. Andy combed through Miranda’s hair, continuing her caress even when lips moved down to press between her legs.

 

\---

 

“I’d like to see you more,” Miranda said later as they lounged in the tub. The view from the suite’s bathroom was breathtaking, but Andy paid little attention.

 

“You would?” she asked, her heart leaping.

 

There was a pause. “Yes. I--I find myself thinking of you. Now and then,” she added.

 

Andy tangled her fingers in Miranda’s more tightly. Her breasts were slippery and warm against Andy’s back. “That’s nice,” she said, trying to sound calm and cool.

 

“Perhaps we could plan--” Miranda stopped again, as though weighing her words. “Something in advance. Choose a date to meet.”

 

Andy lifted their joined hands and kissed Miranda’s knuckle. “I’d like that.”

 

For a few minutes, they watched the Golden Gate sparkle and sway in the night breeze. It was peaceful, despite the excitement budding inside Andy’s chest. The silence was broken when Miranda said flatly, “I expect you’re rather good at your job.”

 

Andy shrugged. “I do all right.”

 

“Yes.” Andy waited. “And you’re enjoying Los Angeles.”

 

This time, her heart began to race so fast she was sure Miranda could feel it. “It’s okay,” she said very slowly, praying her voice wouldn’t shake. “I doubt I’ll stay forever, though. It’s not really home.”

 

Miranda nuzzled her temple, exhaling warm breath on her damp hair. “Mm. And where’s home?”

 

With closed eyes, Andy said, “I don’t know yet,” instead of _New York_ _. As long as you’re there_.

 

\---


	4. Chapter 4

4\. The fourth time, they agreed to meet in Chicago, and there was no liquor involved at all.

 

Andy called it a “date night,” since Miranda booked a room at the Ritz three weeks in advance. Andy decided to stay the full weekend in the city, even if Miranda didn’t have any intention of spending both days with her. She didn’t care. This was already more than she’d hoped for.

 

Unfortunately, the November weather did not cooperate. Andy was scheduled to fly out late Friday afternoon, meeting Miranda at their room that night. A winter storm hit on Thursday, and her flight was delayed, then delayed again, then cancelled. By Friday morning she was frantic, but she didn’t let Miranda know. Only when she had to book a Saturday morning flight did she text her, swallowing tears that she refused to let fall. More than twelve hours together would be lost, but it was the best she could do.

 

Unfortunately, Miranda had even worse luck. Her reply text to Andy read as follows:

 

_twelve inches of snow fallen in ny. hope to arrive by sat night_ . _national guard has failed me a second time. tell me again why we pay taxes?_

 

Andy’s heart dropped, but she couldn’t help but laugh.

 

She arrived in Chicago by early afternoon and had a miserable time getting to the hotel from the airport. As she sat in traffic for more than two hours she tried to remember which one of them had the bright idea of visiting this city in winter. She felt a fool, lonely and hopeless, foiled by nature. At this rate she wondered if she would even see Miranda.

 

Once at the Ritz, she realized she couldn’t even check in since the room was under Miranda’s name. She didn’t have the guts to try and pass as her assistant without a corporate credit card in hand. Embarrassed and hungry, she went to the front desk and asked for a room.

 

“We’re booked solid,” the young man said with a sad expression. “The storm has thrown everyone for a loop—it was only supposed to be a couple of inches. I’m terribly sorry.”

 

“Are you certain?” Andy pleaded. “I’ll take anything, even a suite. Hell, I’d take a broom closet.”

 

“Truly, I’m sorry, miss. But the Peninsula, or TrumpTowers may have something available. Can I get you the numbers?”

 

Andy wilted. “Thanks. That would be great.”

 

She called the Peninsula, and Trump. She tried the Four Seasons, then a Best Western, The Omni, a Holiday Inn, Travelodge and more. As a last resort, she tried the Red Roof Inn, which miraculously had a standard room with a king bed. Hauling her duffel, she caught a crowded bus full of irritable people and made it to the motel with most of her dignity intact. At least her pocketbook wouldn’t suffer too much. Seventy bucks got her a third floor room with a view of a building across the alley. It was a far cry from the Mandarin, and the Ritz.

 

A few minutes after she got settled, she used her phone to check the status of Miranda’s American flight. _Cancelled_ , it read.

 

She wept.

 

\---

 

Hours later, her phone woke her. “Where are you?” Miranda asked. “Why didn’t you check into the Ritz?”

 

“What?” Andy croaked. “Miranda?”

 

“Where are you?” Miranda asked again, her irritation more apparent.

 

Andy sniffled. “The Red Roof Inn. I didn’t think I should tell the Ritz my name, or yours. I didn’t want them to assume we were—well, together. And they were out of space by the time I showed up.”

 

Sighing, Miranda answered, “Well. I suppose you’re right. But it’s late and they’ve given away my suite.”

 

Andy gasped. “Don’t they know who you are?”

 

A few seconds passed. “I used another name. I keep a spare credit card for emergencies, when I want to get away.”

 

Impressed, Andy said, “Wow.” Almost a year spent in Miranda’s office and she’d never known. “I’m so sorry--I tried a zillion hotels in town and they’re all booked.”

 

“What about the one you’re in?”

 

She glanced around the bare walls, and listened to the leak in the bathroom that had lulled her to sleep earlier. “It’s not really up to your standards.”

 

“Does it have a bed?”

 

Andy chuckled unexpectedly, the breath leaving her in a rush. “Yeah. I don’t think it squeaks.”

 

“Then it will be just fine. What’s the address?”

 

Andy told her, and 30 minutes later, Miranda arrived looking gorgeous and unruffled as ever. Andy waited for an explosion of complaints that never came, since Miranda simply walked in the room, dropped her bags and flung herself on the bed. “Bolt the door and come here,” she said, holding out one hand.

 

Andy did as she was told, taking the proffered hand as she sat. Miranda exhaled, and smiled faintly. On closer examination, Andy noticed the signs of exhaustion around her eyes, lines that showed plainly under the bright light at the bedside. “I’m glad you’re here,” Andy said, and hesitated before adding, “I missed you.”

 

Miranda blinked at her. “Were you crying?”

 

Andy looked down at the bedspread. She’d tried to clean up, but her eyes were still puffy. “I didn’t think you’d make it.”

 

“I told you I’d be here, and I am.”

 

Andy frowned, remembering. “Your flight was cancelled.”

 

Miranda gazed up at her with a sparkle in her eye. “I made some phone calls. I was on the first plane out of JFK.” At Andy’s concerned expression, she continued, “Don’t worry, no one was fired, and it was completely safe. I’ll have you know I flew coach.”

 

“What?” Andy huffed before laughing nervously. “I’m—wow.”

 

“We all make adjustments when we have to.” She glanced around the bland Swiss coffee walls of their room. “I should have given you my name at the Ritz—it was an oversight. This weekend so far has simply been a disaster.”

 

Andy felt warmth swell up inside her. “It’s getting better.”

 

“It is.” Miranda’s hand came up to cradle Andy’s head, and they kissed. Andy loved the feel of her mouth. It was wonderful, and for once, just kissing was enough. Andy nudged in for some room to lie down, and Miranda accommodated her, but there was no escalation. Slowly Andy undressed her, leaving trails of kisses across Miranda’s skin and smiling at the goosebumps left behind. Miranda hummed contentedly, and soon Andy stood up to pull off all her clothes. She joined Miranda quickly and pressed against her, sighing in relief.

 

“I really did miss you,” Andy murmured into her neck.

 

Miranda didn’t reply, but she found Andy’s mouth and kissed her, over and over.

 

\---

 

Although they didn’t make love that first night, they made up for it.

 

For all its small, drab décor, the room did very well to accommodate them. Andy had to keep the pillow over her head for a while as Miranda worked her into a sobbing frenzy. But soon Miranda yanked the pillow away, asking for permission with her eyes to try something new. Andy nodded, and Miranda made her hand very small and narrow and carefully nudged up inside her. Andy was breathless, and though she’d already come twice, she did it again, sitting up against the headboard and gaping in disbelief. “Oh my god,” she said, her voice unrecognizable to her own ears. “Oh my god.”

 

Miranda’s mouth was open, and she stared between Andy’s legs as if unable to look elsewhere. “My,” she said, breathless. “I didn’t think it would be--” She swallowed. “That was very...”

 

Andy laughed weakly, getting uncomfortable as the aftershocks were fading. “Intense?” she asked.

 

At once, Miranda seemed to sense it was time, so she shifted her hand back and forth until it slid out, and Andy hid the wince that came along with the pain. She’d be embarrassed if Miranda didn’t look so fascinated. She covered Andy with her damp fingers, eyes shut. “I can still feel it. Like a heartbeat. My god, it was strong.”

 

Andy was exhausted; she’d been awake only two hours, but the muffins and coffee she’d nicked from the continental breakfast downstairs weren’t enough to sustain such enthusiastic efforts. Miranda seemed completely energized, while Andy wanted to slip into a coma.

 

“Don’t you dare fall asleep,” Miranda said, wiping her hand on the sheet and crawling up to straddle her.

 

“Okay,” Andy said, forcing her eyes open. “I’m up. I’m fine.”

 

“It’s not even 8:00.”

 

“I know, but it’s 6am my time. And that sort of… did me in.”

 

Pausing, Miranda considered that. “Oh. I forgot about the time difference. How inconvenient.”

 

Almost drifting off again, Andy jerked awake when she realized something. “Are you leaving today? I mean, what time is your flight? Mine isn’t till Monday morning. I wanted to stay the whole weekend. Not that you have to or anything--”

 

“Hush,” Miranda said, pressing musky fingers to Andy’s mouth. “Don’t worry about that.” As if unable to resist, Miranda kissed her, humming as she tasted Andy’s varied flavors.

 

As tired as she was, Andy couldn’t leave Miranda in the lurch, and she slipped a hand between her legs. Wet down her thighs, Miranda inhaled sharply, bucking into the touch and arching. “Oh, yes.” So Andy rubbed the way Miranda liked it until she came with a desperate cry, the sound of it so beautiful that Andy’s heart broke with love.

 

A few minutes later, Andy’s eyes closed as she drifted off. She might have heard Miranda say “Darling,” but thought later it was only a dream.

 

\---  
  



	5. Chapter 5

 

5\. The fifth time, Andy was in New York for an interview, staying at the Essex House. A little wine was had by both parties, but not enough to dampen Andy’s senses, nor her memories.

 

For two months, she’d daydreamed about the weekend in Chicago. They’d done much more than make love; eventually Andy was too sore, so when Miranda finally ran low on energy, they’d talked. Really talked--about what was happening in both their lives, with Andy’s job and her friends, and Miranda’s job and her kids and the friends who were really only acquaintances. All day long they spent in bed, at least when Andy wasn’t running for take out from the pub down the block. The weather had cleared, but later that Sunday Andy changed her flight from Monday morning to the afternoon to match Miranda’s. She hadn’t realized that Miranda had every intention of taking that day off too, and was thrilled. They went to the airport together, sitting quietly in the terminal until Andy had to go off to her gate in another wing. For the entire four hours of her flight, Andy smelled Miranda’s perfume on her scarf and relived every moment.

 

She was well and truly addicted, always looking for excuses to get a fix. So when the phone call came from CNN in New York, Andy said yes right away. They’d seen a reel of her stuff, Andy wasn’t sure how (though she had her hopeful suspicions), and were interested in new on-air talent. That mostly meant cheap on-air talent, but Andy was very willing to untie her connections to Los Angeles for the opportunity. She chose not to talk to Miranda before the interview; she didn’t want advice, and she didn’t want to know if Miranda had a hand in it. Above all, she didn’t want the distraction of Miranda’s thoughtful gaze upon her.

 

She went to TimeWarnerCenter and traveled up to the 6th floor for her interview, dutifully ignoring thoughts of the Mandarin Oriental hotel in the tower opposite. She did a screen test, and talked with lots of people in quick succession. Producers, executives, more producers and the occasional assistant who gave her water or coffee or directions to the bathroom. It was an exhausting process, but since she’d already done her first “interview” with her reel, she figured this was more than just an informational.

 

By 3:00, she was done, and went back to her hotel with a spring in her step. It was one of her more successful interviews, and if they made her an offer, she expected it would be as a hybrid of producer and on-camera talent. The focus was on entertainment and fashion, but the potential to move into more serious news was brought into the conversation. They almost seemed surprised at her interest, considering her fluff position at KTLA. Andy adroitly explained that her experience at Runway had led her in one direction, but that she was ready for a return to her roots.

 

In more ways than one.

 

Once back in her suite, she dialed Miranda’s cell, expecting her voicemail. When Miranda picked up, Andy was so surprised she couldn’t speak for a moment.

 

“Daisy?” Miranda repeated.

 

“Hi,” Andy finally managed. “I’m—I’m here. In New York, I mean. Tell me you’re in town.”

 

There was a pause. “I am. You know fashion week is coming up.”

 

Andy knew. Bryant Park was just eight days away. “I hoped.”

 

“When did you arrive?”

 

“Last night. I didn’t want to call—I had an interview today.” Andy took a deep breath. “You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

 

A few seconds ticked by. The sound of silence between them told Andy everything. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 

Andy grinned, and didn’t care if she got the job because of nepotism, or Miranda Priestly’s influence or anything other than the fact that Miranda had given her a chance to move back to New York. When had she decided it was okay to sacrifice her integrity in favor of her heart, or at the very least, her libido? “Oh, sorry. I had an interview at CNN. I figured you might know people over there.”

 

“Well,” Miranda said, and Andy imagined her brushing her hair behind her ear. “I might have mentioned your name to Jeanne Moos in passing. But that’s all,” she added. “Nothing more.”

 

Now Andy felt invincible. She would lure Miranda to the hotel tonight even if she had to go over Runway, strip down in the corridor and beg on her hands and knees. “That was… I think the interview went well.”

 

“I’m glad to hear it. I expect nothing less.” Miranda cleared her throat. “When will you know?”

 

Andy shut her eyes, and hoped they were already putting together an offer letter. “By the end of the week. I’d have to give some notice at the station in LA, but I could probably be back by March if they want me.”

 

“Mm,” Miranda said. “So you’d take the job?”

 

Andy laughed. “From local to national? Absolutely.” She was briefly daunted by the idea of being in front of such an enormous audience, then remembered that Los Angeles was the second largest market in the country and a shitload of people already watched her regularly. “Plus it’s here. I’ve been thinking about coming back anyway. I miss a real city.”

 

Miranda hummed. “So Los Angeles isn’t real?”

 

“It’s not that. It’s just not me. Besides, I haven’t gotten a good bagel since I’ve been gone.” She got a chuckle out of Miranda with that. “Even the places that say they ship in the water can’t pull it off.”

 

“That’s surely reason enough to return,” Miranda agreed, her sarcasm light enough to make Andy giggle.

 

“Anyway, we haven’t talked about anything other than potential. No offers are on the table.”

 

Voice firm, Miranda told her, “Ask for what you’re worth, Andrea. Don’t let them underestimate you.”

 

Andy rolled her eyes. “I don’t have that much experience on-camera, Miranda--”

 

“They flew you here for an interview, did they not?” Miranda asked pointedly.

 

“Well, yeah.”

 

“They want you. Negotiate. Believe in your value. If they don’t meet your expectations, walk away. There will be other chances in the future.”

 

_Easy for you to say_ , Andy thought. “I don’t want to assume anything until it happens.” She swallowed, and tried not to be nervous. “I’m sure you’re really busy and everything, but would you want to—drop by? I’m at the Essex House till tomorrow.”

 

There was a pause, and Andy heard a rustle of papers. “Let me—hold on.” Andy held her breath until Miranda came back on the line. “I’ll be there at 9:30.”

 

Andy crossed her fingers that she wouldn’t be late.

 

\---

 

At 9:30, Andy had dinner delivered—flank steak for Miranda and vegetable risotto for herself. Miranda arrived five minutes later, with a tired but pleased smile at the romantic, candlelit table. Andy was elated; this was what she was considering her Valentine’s Day, so she’d gone all out. Miranda sat down at the chair Andy pulled out from her, and when she looked up, Andy couldn’t resist. She leaned down and gently pressed her lips to Miranda’s, putting everything she felt into the kiss. Understanding, acceptance, compassion and more--she tried to convey it all within ten seconds. When she broke the kiss, she bussed Miranda’s forehead as well, and heard a soft sigh of relief.

 

“Wine?” she asked, holding up the decanter. At Miranda’s nod, she poured some for the both of them, and seated herself. “I took the liberty of ordering for you, I hope you don’t mind. I thought you may not have had time for dinner--”

 

“I didn’t. I missed lunch as well, incidentally.” She glanced up at Andy, her eyes and expression so warm that Andy felt a shiver travel from her tailbone through the top of her head. “This looks lovely.”

 

Andy had paid through the nose for the meal, but it was well worth it, considering the look of anticipation on Miranda’s face. “It’s from South Gate. You still like steak, don’t you?”

 

“I do,” Miranda replied, slicing into the meat with aplomb. Her sounds of pleasure made the efforts a bargain, and Andy grinned as she tasted her risotto.

 

The meal was a delight, and Andy found herself stealing a bit of potato puree from Miranda’s plate, and at one point, feeding her companion a bite of her own meal. It felt entirely normal, yet remarkable. As much sex as they’d had, doing regular things like eating and talking still seemed a revelation. Andy gave a detailed rundown of all the people she’d met during her marathon interview, and Miranda spoke of the preparations for Bryant Park on top of the work to get the magazine out the door. Most significantly, her first assistant had apparently been thrown for a loop when Miranda declared she would not be at home this evening, and that the book could wait until morning.

 

“I believe she was, for all intents and purposes, speechless for the first time in the eight months she’s been at the desk. When I told her to leave the book at the office, she simply didn’t know how to react.”

 

Andy was already laughing. “I can imagine. I don’t know what I’d have said if you told me not to deliver the book for once.” She swallowed a sip of wine. “Where are the kids?”

 

Miranda tilted her head slyly. “They were more than happy to arrange a sleepover with some friends this evening.”

 

Andy grinned. “I’m glad for that. I know it was last minute, but I was really hoping to see you.”

 

Miranda blinked, picking a flower from the vase on the table. It was a daisy, one that Andy had placed there herself even though it didn’t quite match the rest of the arrangement. Miranda rubbed the white petals between her fingers before lifting the flower to her face, brushing it against her cheek. “Is that right?”

 

Andy flushed, wanting to kiss that cheek herself. “Yes.”

 

“Well here I am,” Miranda said. “All yours.”

 

Taking a deep breath, Andy stood, ready to pull Miranda from the chair and ravish her right there on the floor. Naturally, because her timing had always been stellar, a cellphone rang. She waited for Miranda to answer it, and grew puzzled when she didn’t.

 

“I’m not answering that,” Miranda added.

 

“How do you know it isn’t--”

 

“It’s my assistant,” Miranda replied. “She has her own ringtone. Whatever it is can wait.”

 

“Oh. Well. Good.” With that, Andy did as she pleased, pulling Miranda from the chair right onto the floor. Andy lay back on the plush carpet, her body nestled between Miranda’s knees. It wasn’t particularly comfortable for either of them, considering there was a supremely well-appointed bed not ten feet away, but Andy wanted to hold Miranda right now, and another few seconds was too long to wait. So Miranda gamely knelt there, leaning down with her elbows pressed at Andy’s sides. They kissed, lips sliding together as easily as if they’d been doing so for years. Miranda nibbled Andy’s ear, just along the edge, the way she liked it best. Andy held Miranda’s ass, squeezing rhythmically to match the cadence of her hips. It was wonderful to be with someone who knew her body so well, and whom she knew in return.

 

Miranda nosed across her cheekbone, breath warm and sweet. “My beautiful flower,” she murmured. Andy’s shivered almost violently, and hoped not to break the spell that Miranda had cast over her. Miranda didn’t speak again, but Andy would not forget the sound of the words as they spilled across her skin.

 

Andy inched her way closer to the bed with each passing minute, until they made their way under the silk duvet to rest atop the decadent sheets. She entwined her legs with Miranda’s, pressing as close as she could. Miranda stroked down her back again and again until Andy was arching in anticipation. But tonight neither went first; instead Miranda found that dark, wet place between her legs, and used her free hand to lead Andy’s fingers between her own. For the first time they watched each other as they caressed and rubbed and pressed for long minutes, heat ricocheting back and forth. Miranda started to lose her breath eventually, and when her eyes rolled in ecstasy, Andy felt the answering clench in herself, unable to hold back.

 

Minutes later, Andy rested her damp cheek against Miranda’s shoulder. She was sweating, and sated, and happier than she’d been in years. Words swirled up inside her, but she didn’t give them voice, afraid to ruin the perfect, perfect moment. She simply closed her eyes, trying to memorize the details around her; the faint noise of the city some 19 stories below, the heart thudding under her ear, the sound of a ticking clock situated on a desk all the way across the room.

 

Cozy and comfortable, Andy dozed for a while, gripping Miranda’s hand possessively. When Miranda shifted in the bed to spoon them together for sleep, she mumbled into Andy’s ear, “You’ll come home with me next time.”

 

At that moment, Andy was dreaming about paddling a kayak in white water under a stormy sky. In the dream she had learned to steer the craft and hold Miranda’s hand at the same time. Not really awake, she said, “Okay,” and went back to paddling, just as Miranda’s lips came to rest against her shoulder.

   
~end  



End file.
